


I couldn't see the lines anymore

by G_3_P_O



Category: Outer Banks (TV)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Grief/Mourning, Heartache, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, JJ (Outer Banks) Deserves Better, Kiara (Outer Banks) Needs a Hug, Kooks (Outer Banks), Outer Banks, Pogues (Outer Banks), Post-Canon, Post-Outer Banks Season 1, Protect JJ (Outer Banks), Sad JJ (Outer Banks), Teen Angst, Teen Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:00:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24570454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/G_3_P_O/pseuds/G_3_P_O
Summary: JJ thinks of John B his best friend, his family, gone and wonders, if the world is ending why can’t he just slip beneath the water too?Set in the immediate aftermath of season 1. JJ and Kiara try to navigate their dependence on each other and the messy lines of their new reality amidst the chaos and grief of life in the OBX post manhunt.
Relationships: JJ/Kiara (Outer Banks)
Comments: 25
Kudos: 218





	1. saying nothing, thats enough for me

**Author's Note:**

> I once referred to this show as the emotional equivalent to bungee jumping over concrete so I guess writing this was in many ways inevitable.  
>   
> I don't own anything. All mistakes are my own.  
>   
> For gods sake someone just _please_ give JJ a hug and a nice cup of tea and put me out of my misery. 
> 
> \------------------------------

The world is ending.  
  
That’s what the ringing in his ears is. It's the sea swallowing the island whole. It’s buildings crumbling into nothingness.  
  
The world is ending.  
  
That’s why his knees are buckling beneath him. It’s why his hands are fisting around wet grass and dirt.  
  
The world is ending.  
  
That’s why he cant see straight. It’s why his breath comes in rattling gasps.  
  
John B is gone, so the world is ending. It’s that simple.  
  
Through blurred blue eyes he sees Kie’s calves and ankles, her feet shaking in her shoes. Then her fingers are in the dirt next to his and her face comes into view. Brown eyes rimmed red, bruises blooming across her throat from Rafe’s hands. Bile rears up from his stomach as her gasping sobs permeate his ears and she clutches at his wrists, his forearms, his shoulders. Kie’s mass of curls are matted with blood and dirt and JJ clings to her tendrils like a life raft. Pope is there too sinking slowly into the abyss alongside them, his arms encircle them both like he's trying to hold them together. But that’s not possible. The glue, _their_ glue, that has held the Pogues together through everything is gone. Drowned. Dead.  
  
Ward Cameron is yelling his voice cracking and strained, two SBI Officers escort him from the tent. Mr and Mrs Carrera are yelling too, the frenzied panicked cries of distressed parents demanding answers from Shoupe. Pope’s father is holding his mother up, Mrs Heyward’s shoulders shake but her sobs are silent. There is a tiny fleck of relief visible in Heyward’s eyes, his son after all is standing before him, for the most part unscathed.  
  
Theoretically Kie assumes that time must be passing by some measure but that concept is too abstract to have any effect. Her breath heaves into JJ's shoulder his ruined tank top and bare shoulder are soaked with rain and tears. He has her hair in a vice like grip and it feels like the only thing keeping her tethered to the planet.  
  
The newly restored lights blink and rain continues to pelt the tent. Each heavy droplet a reminder of the ongoing storm, the three teens pooled on the ground a hopeless pile of shared anger, grief and misery hardly notice.  
  
At some point Kie’s parents stop shouting at Shoupe barely hidden despair creeping across his drawn features, he's aged a decade in the past 24 hours. SBI officers and Outer Banks Policemen are slowly disappearing from the tent the hollow sobs of the would-be-fugitives too agonising to witness for too long.  
  
Pope is the first to shift, which make sense since he is the outer layer of the nesting doll configuration they've found themselves in. His fingers flex on JJ’s bruised ribs Heyward’s hand is steady on his shoulder stirring him from the grief stricken revere he has collapsed into alongside the other remaining Pogues. He falls back into Heyward’s legs arms releasing their hold on JJ and Kie and in his absence they seem to sink a fraction further into the mud, into each other. Pope doesn't that see that though, not while fresh anguished tears well hotly beneath his shuttered lids.  
  
Mr and Mrs Carrera emboldened by Heyward’s movements make to extricate Kie from JJ’s arms she shrugs them off pressing her face ever further into the crook of his neck, her sobs have subsided for a moment but JJ’s heart is beating a frantic frightened rhythm against her hand. When the Carrera's try again to reclaim their daughter Shoupe helps. An oddly supportive hand braces against JJ’s shoulder and Kiara’s father pulls his daughters hand gently from JJ’s neck. At the broken contact Kie’s body is again wracked with sobs and the bubbling variety pack of heartache surging through her bones, blood and breath make her relent wearily allowing her dad to scoop her off the ground. JJ pulls away from Shoupe’s hand as he relinquishes his hold on Kie’s curls watching them slide slowly out of his calloused fingers. The emptiness that overcomes him as the last stands leave his grasp feels like a death blow and his eyes slide shut as once again he stands alone.  
  
As Kiara’s Dad carries her to the Carrera’s car tailed closely by her mother another hand clamps down on JJ’s shoulder, he winces. Heyward pretends not to notice the way JJ flinches away from his touch.  
  
“Come on.” Heyward says simply head inclining back to where Mrs Heyward, arms wound tightly around him, is leading Pope out of the tent.  
  
He wants to argue, wants desperately to say, ‘Thanks but no thanks Mr Heyward’ and stand on his own feet, but he can’t. Everything is too much, his body is tired and bruised from the back to back beatings from his Dad yesterday and Barry today, was that really this morning?  
And so tiredly, silently JJ relents.  
  
He sits mutely in the Heyward’s car with Pope. Mumbles his thanks when Mrs Heyward fusses over him adding blankets and pillows to the too small couch in the Heyward’s equally small living room. He stays quiet as her sad eyes trace over his face pausing for a moment on the splits in his lip, the bruise emerging over his left eye, the cut beginning to heal along his jaw and the angry welt disappearing into his hair line. He steps hurriedly back when she raises her hand, reaching up to brush his hair from his face. She gives him a small incredibly sad smile patting the little pile of Pope’s old clothes that she's put out for him before leaving the room to check on her son. JJ releases the breath he's been holding, it hitches on the lump in his throat and Mrs Heyward hesitates for a fraction of a second. Her maternal instinct screams for her to hold that poor broken boy but she shakes it off thinking of the way JJ recoiled from her touch.  
  
JJ stumbles into rather than lowers himself down on to the couch. Every muscle is screaming each bone feels bruised and he wants to succumb to sleep for as long as it will have him. He pulls Pope’s old t-shirt over his head and for a split second he's back in his own home and it's his own mother who patted his cheek with sad eyes.  
  
In that instant reality comes charging back in and he thinks of Pope’s lost scholarship and Kie’s shaking body and his father waking up to find the keys to the Phantom gone. He thinks of John B his best friend, his family, _gone_ and thinks,  
if the world is ending why can’t he just slip beneath the water too?  
  



	2. takes one to know one, take it from me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The emotional bungee jump onto a concrete slab continues...  
>   
> I can't promise any rhyme or reason as to when I'll get these chapters up. It's all pretty dependent on how much Laura harasses me... but I will try to be quick and consistent.  
>   
> Thanks for all the kindness.  
>   
> xx  
>   
> I own only my mistakes and my continued insanity.  
>   
> \-----------------------------------------------  
>   
> 

  
Kie runs out of the surf near Rixon Cove a laugh on her lips. Sand sticks to her body like a second skin as she throws herself, and her board, down next to John B. JJ hurls himself down next to her in a spray of salt and sand his frenetic energy only tampered slightly from hours of gruelling sets out in the waves. Pope soon joins them too driving his fins into the sand so his board stands up prim and proper, unlike the others which lay sprawled next to their owners, leg ropes still wound around ankles dripping slow pools into the sand. JJ, ever moving, squirms around on the hot beach until his sandy hair rest on Kie's stomach. She laughs a low rumble which turns to a fit of uncharacteristic giggles as she watches his head bounce with the movements of her abdomen.  
  
“Your footworks way better Kie, you not getting schooled by barrels half as much.” JJ says matter of factly, his blues eyes staring up at the colour matched sky.  
  
“Fuck off.” Kie scoffs hitting his bare chest with a resounding thwack, John B barks out a laugh.  
  
“What, you doing time at Kook surf school now JJ?” Pope grins at JJ's scowls.  
  
“Mmm yes, yes critiquing the young ankle bitters on their footwork and wave riding etiquette eh, old chap?” John B tacks on, his nose turned up and his voice a high cold imitation of the haughty Kook tone.  
  
“Fuck this,” JJ jumps up, the sudden lake of contact startling Kie and she dismisses the idea of missing his touch before it can even fully form, “thats the last time I give any of you assholes a complement.”  
  
There is a grin in his voice and he leans over Kie’s face shaking his hair out like a wet dog, salty droplets spraying everywhere. Kie lets out a shriek and she lunges off of the sand chasing JJ back towards the water. John B is already two steps ahead of her laughing maniacally as he tackles JJ into the wet sand. They squabble in the shallows like three year olds until JJ has John B in a headlock noogying into his wet caramel coloured hair. The victory however is short lived, slapping JJ on the ass John B wriggles himself free with a triumphant shout.  
  
“Last one to the van owes fries.” He hollers sprinting towards his board.  
  
“Kie! Hurry up!” An exasperated JJ turns back to look at her. His face is covered in sand but his eyes are bright. She knows he's been sleeping at John B’s a lot lately, his skin is clear, he hasn't had any new bruises for weeks and even some of his older wounds are starting to fade into the toned expanse of his skin.  
  
“Kieeeeee I'm hungry.” He wails again gesticulating wildly with both arms. John B pops up over the dune beside him, eyes wild with mirth.  
  
“Come on, lets go eat.” He laughs as JJ swats at him.  
  
Kie jogs up the sand following after them, but as she summits the dune her retort about always being the one to provide fries anyway dies on her lips. John B and JJ are gone. Pope and the van are gone. She’s alone.  
  
Kiara wakes with a start sitting bolt upright in bed. Her body is slick with sweat, her hair matted with god knows what and JJ’s name on her panicked lips. She squints in the darkness looking around the space trying to place herself. She's in her room at her parents house. For some reason this shocks her.  
  
_When was the last time she slept here? _  
  
It has to be days, a week even? Before Midsummers, before Topper pushed John B from the Hawks nest.  
  
_John B._  
  
Her whole body goes ice cold her stomach lurches and she thinks for a second she's going to be sick.  
  
John B. Dead. Sarah. Dead. The events of the past who knows how long flood her senses and it's like she's living it all again. The sirens at the airfield, Pope losing it in the hanger, the manhunt, reclaiming The Phantom, Rafe's tightening hands around her throat, the sound of JJ being thrown against the concrete, the mania in Pope’s eyes, John B pushing away from the dock at the Chateau with promises to see them in three weeks in Mexico, the storm, the tent. John B and Sarah. _Dead._  
  
This time she is sick. She lurches from her bed spitting bile and stomach fluid into her waste paper basket. God knows when the last she had a real meal, or even a glass of water was.  
  
It’s still pitch dark outside her window and she wonders how much time has passed, the rain is still falling, beating out it's sickening tune but the wind seems to have calmed a little. She tries to catch her last memory before waking up in her room but the images flit before her eyes, unfocused and oversaturated. She doesn't want to think about the SBI tent but she has to. The wet grass and mud, Popes arms around her and JJ and.…  
  
“JJ” she breathes aloud, her thoughts snagging and her blood running cold.  
  
Where was he?  
  
Had Pope taken him home?  
  
Had her parents offered to bring him home with them?  
  
_Of course not_ she thinks anger flaring.  
  
But what if Mr and Mrs Heyward had been wrapped up in their son like the Carerra’s had been with her?  
  
What if JJ had been left alone in that god awful tent?  
  
Kie’s fists clench around her sheets riddling them into knots twisting and untwisting. She can’t silence her frantic panicked breathing as she thinks about JJ out there alone at the mercy of Ward and Rafe, or fucked up Barry or JJ’s dick of a dad. She throws her blankets off hurriedly grabbing whatever sweat pants she had mostly recently borrowed from one of the Pogue’s off the floor. Kicking off her ruined cut offs she reasons that her parents must have opted to not wake her rather than try get her into any kind of clean clothing. Pulling on the _borrowed_ sweats she slides her bare feet over the familiar floor boards of her parents hallway moving hurriedly away from her bedroom.  
  
Once she's inside the car she realises she could have just called JJ’s cell but she doesn't know where her own phone is let alone his. The steering wheel is cold under her shaking hands and she tries desperately not to think of when they were last in this car. The four of them together planning John B’s escape, hiding from the cops, Pope driving into mail boxes high as a kite, adrenaline pumping.  
  
She's not sure where she's going she's driving on instinct. She passes Pope’s place but all the lights are off so she continues down into the Cut. The road becomes more and more familiar as she pushes through the dark and the rain. She thinks about Rixon Cove mind racing through their laughter by their fire and the sun kissing their bodies out in the surf. She knows though, she knows deep down there is really only one place JJ would go to feel at home.  
  
The reality of where her subconscious is guiding her is another heavy weight in her stomach and when she pulls into the familiar drive of the Chateau she’s gripping the steering wheel so tightly that her stretched knuckles glow in the darkness of the car.  
  
Her toes squelch into the mud as she steps out of the car heart beating double time in her chest. The borrowed sweat pants trail a little in the mud and the ever present rain obscures her vision, sticking in her lashes. It's unnaturally quiet, she can't think of time when she's known the Chateau to be this still. It's normally heaving with noise; from John B’s speaker to the yelling and screaming banter of the Pogues, Pope's snores from the pull out mattress, the soft puff and pull of JJ’s vape or the scratch of his rolling papers. But now it's still as if the old run down beach hut, which in the last weeks has been ransacked by both gunmen and the police, has died too. Like it's also lost at sea like John B and Big John.  
  
Kie sucks in a shuddering breath as her feet meet the worn warped wood of the deck ghostly laughter, half remember jokes and a slew of memories threaten to pull her under but she pushes forward across the porch. _I’m here for JJ_ she repeats to herself over and over again as she slips through the screen door her mantra emboldening her feet to continue onwards. Even in the darkness Kie can tell the place is missing John B's eternal optimism, it feels cold. She wades through the debris of paper, solo cups and pizza boxes disturbed by the cops who searched the place earlier today, yesterday, a life time ago.  
  
She blinks her eyes trying to hurry her pupils into adjusting to the low light and then she hears him, a crack in his voice that mirrors the fissure in her chest.  
  
“Hey Kie.” For a fraction of a second her imagination thinks it's John B’s voice echoing out of the darkness but then her eyes lock on the beach blonde mess of hair. She catches a glimpse of those piercing blue eyes and It's JJ, of course it's JJ. It's always JJ who finds her when she's about to break.  
  
She feels herself sinking, knees buckling and wave after wave crashing over her as she takes in the deep purple bruises that cloud JJ's face as he stands hopeless and alone in the half destroyed living room of their dead best friend's house.  
  
She feels herself sinking, but his arms reach her before the floor does.__


	3. We could try to go back where we started

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To continue the concrete bungee jumping analogy, we are at that point in the experience where you're just continuously bouncing onto a hard slab instead of open air... Enjoy!
> 
> Thanks Laura for letting me ruin your life with this show and then for subsequently ruining mine as some kind of revenge plot. 
> 
> Thank _you_ for all the kindness.
> 
> xx
> 
> I own only my mistakes and my continued insanity.

  
  
She walks through the door like some kind of - actually, JJ’s not sure exactly what it is she looks like standing there her hair wild and her eyes bright in the darkness. She’s haloed by the grim light from the solar lantern hanging from the tree near the boat dock. If JJ had given more of a shit in history class instead of skiving off to surf with John B he might have likened her to some kind of archangel or a mythical god standing there in the doorway of the Chateau, rain clinging to her curls.  
  
“Hey Kie.” The crack in his voice is like thunder in the midst of the ongoing storm and her eyes dart across the darkness locking on to his. The plains of her face which are traditionally arranged in an unreadable mask betray her. Her eyes are clouded with sadness, a tremble shakes her bottom lip. He’s stepping towards her before her knees buckle but he surges into her as if he's moving with the tide as a whimper leaves her lips. His arms encircle her just before she hits the floor and like hours ago in that godforsaken tent his hands get lost in the folds of her hair as he holds her to his chest. Her anguish is mirrored in his own features and for a moment they let the raw senseless pain claim them.  
  
Kiara only lets JJ hold her up for a moment the mantra that got her through the front door resurfaces in her grief clouded mind, _I’m here for JJ_ .  
  
He feels her take a deep shuddering breath and recognises the tactic at once, she's steadying her resolve. It’s the same thing he's done outside this exact room countless times before when he's turned up on John B’s doorstep bloodied or bruised. He’s not sure exactly how it happens but they're standing again and this time she's supporting him, keeping _him_ upright. When her face swims before his once more her mask is back in place, the misery is still evident in her eyes but her brow is unfurled her lips still. She gently takes his face between her hands and he's too tired and too sad to pull away and she's too Kie for him to really want to anyway. Her eyes rake over his face slowly taking a mental inventory of every scratch, cut, bruise and welt that has left it’s indelible mark on his skin.  
  
His hands slide from her hair to hold her waist. The movement is slow and measured which is very un-JJ-like. His face remains neutral his customary smirk is missing, perhaps forever, and he thinks maybe she can tell what he's thinking, they have reached uncharted territory. Slowly he drags his feet backwards guiding them towards the pullout he was sitting on when Kie walked in. Her hold on his face remains soft, gentle, her thumbs slipping across his cheek bones as if she can smooth the bruises out of his skin. The backs of his knees hit the bowed mattress and he sits down. He _has_ to sit down.  
  
With her hands on his skin he realises how dead on his feet he is. In the space of 5 seconds he feels every minute of each sleepless day that has brought them both to this point and realises with a sickening jolt that the last time he had slept was whenever he, Kie and Pope had woken up at The Wreck curled up on packets of straws and napkins.  
  
At Pope's place JJ had sunk onto the couch the clean t-shirt burning his nostrils with the familiar yet far off scent of laundry detergent. His brain had trawled for every memory of his Mom it could bring to the surface, and when it ran out of those it had pulled together a collection of the times Big John had, in a fit of parental inspiration, helped John B and JJ with their laundry. Sure all their socks and underwear had ended up a weird bluey brown colour from a dark t-shirt that had found its way into their lights load, but it had all been worth it for the smell of laundry detergent and the feel of clean clothes.  
  
He had scrunched up his eyes against the onslaught of memories and begged for sleep to wipe him out. Pull him under like the waves had when they had surfed the surge but thoughts of surf had soon turned to thoughts of the ocean and the storm and suddenly JJ was spluttering for air like John B must have and when he came to he was coughing and spluttering outside of Pope's house. And then he ran.  
  
JJ’s boots were still water logged and the soles were beginning to peel off, but he ran. His breathing was all over the place and he had stitches in his sides but he ran. He ran until he couldn't run any longer and when he stopped gasping for breath with his hands on his knees and that promised oblivion still just out of reach he looked up and realised he had run to the Chateau. For the second time that night JJ had sunk to the ground fingers digging into the wet muddy grass. There was no one to fall with him this time and so when his breath was regular again and his legs had stopped shaking he had peeled himself up and stepped into the dark house that had once felt more like home than anywhere else.  
  
Now Kie stands between his knees the pads of her thumbs still tracing lightly over his cheek bones. His own hands gripped her hips the callouses on his fingers unbeknownst to JJ leaving tiny trails of goosebumps along her exposed skin each time his hand shifted. He exhaled with a slight tremble as he felt the waves of pain and stress and fear recede just a little under Kie’s touch. Her fingers stilled and he felt her hair fall like a honey scented curtain around him as she leant forward, lips brushing against his forehead lightly.  
  
They’d never crossed this line. Kie was generous with her affections JJ knew that, there were always hugs and fist bumps, high fives and the motherly ministrations that the Pogues so often needed after big surf sessions or more recently, when they'd been running for their lives. He’d watched her kiss John B’s cheek before he dove down to Skeeter’s boat and he’d watched her mack Pope too. But their affection was different. They were the twin masters of no strings flirting, they sought each other out on the dance floor at the boneyard because no body else could role their hips like JJ and Kie. He would wolf whistle her on the HMS Pogue and she’d send him flying over board with a flick of her wrist cat calling him when he emerged from the water chest glistening.  
  
Their affection was never intimate like this. Not outside of the deepest, most hidden and beaten recesses of his mind. The part of him that fanned the tiny flame that the world was trying so damn hard to extinguish. The idea that maybe, just maybe JJ Maybank was capable of being loved after all.  
  
Her lips linger on his hair line. The faint hum of her breath on his skin is the most soothing thing JJ thinks he's ever felt. He shifts beneath her slightly though when he feels one of her tears splash against his skin. Their faces are close, maybe too close her eyes are glossy and he can feel his own tired, raw and red eyes begin to burn once more.  
  
“I’m sorry Kie. I’m so sorry.” He whispers. The guilt and pain flooding him, his voice hoarse and cracked.  
  
She crashed her body against his with more strength than he realised either of them still possessed. They fall in a tangle of limbs onto the pull out mattress and she presses her face into his chest. When she pulls back and her eyes lock onto his once more there is a hint of Kie’s usual fire burning low within them. They're lying on their sides facing into one another and she takes his face in her hands again. Without breaking their gaze she presses her forehead against his, her hot breath washing over him.  
  
“This, none of this is your fault JJ. Promise me you know that. You deserve better than all of this, ok. Promise me JJ.” Her voice is beseeching and her eyes, the epitome of heartbreak, search his for some kind of reassurance that he doesn't truly believe he is to blame.  
  
“I- I…” he trails off and her lips are on his head again and he thinks its maybe the first time he's been held like this since his Mom left.  
  
“It’s not your fault JJ. It’s not your fault. It’s Wards fault and its Rafe’s fault and its Barry’s fault and it’s … and it's your Dad’s fault” She whispers against his skin. The arms encircling her waits tighten around her when he realises that she is talking about more than just John B and he thinks that maybe he is too.  
  
“It's not your fault.” She whispers these words with her lips against his forehead and his cheeks and into his chest over and over again. The words are like some kind of heartbreaking lullaby and JJ feels himself begin to drift towards the sweet and promised oblivion he has been chasing all night.  
  
Kiara is stumbling towards oblivion too and she raises her lips from the base of JJ’s throat to look at him before sleep claims her as well. He always looks so much younger when his face stills. The frenetic energy drains away and his smirk is gone leaving the smooth skin of the 16 year old boy she loves. The broken and often bruised boy who she knows would set himself on fire to keep his friends warm.  
  
“It’s not your fault JJ” She whispers her lips feather light against his. She feels sleep pulling her under and JJ’s arms grow ever tighter around her as her heavy lids slide closed.  
  
“It’s not your fault” her lips move against his one last time and then everything is dark.  
  



	4. If you weren't you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ** Insert not that funny intro line about bungee jumping and concrete here. **  
>   
> For Laura, naturally.  
>   
> Thanks for all the niceties keep 'em coming please my fragile self-esteem is loving it.  
>   
> xx  
>   
> I own only my mistakes and continued insanity.  
>   
> \---------  
> 

  
  
They both wake in the night.  
  
Kiara keeps her eyes closed scrunching them tightly as understanding of where she is and why resurfaces. In his sleep JJ seems to react to the tension that has filled her body, the arm still resting on her hip draws her closer to his chest. She releases the breath she's been holding and tries to let go off the anxiety that has crept in with her wakefulness. A cold shiver passes through her and she hides her face deeper in the crevice of JJ’s shoulder, sleep reclaiming her.  
  
It’s later when JJ is wrenched from sleep, his eyes flash open with a start his body jerking and Kie shifts slightly in her sleep still pressed against him. Its near dawn judging by the dark grey light that is shifting the darkness of the Chateau into a streaky mess of shadows. He focuses on the tendrils of Kie’s hair spread out over his arm that she's sleeping on. He shifts his arm off her hip to lightly run his fingers through her hair. He tells himself he's just pushing it back from her face so it doesn't tickle his arm, he almost laughs at the absurdity of his own lie. She shivers as the warmth of his arm that had blanketed the skin exposed at her hip disappears.  
  
_Shit_ he thinks and his fingers trace the length of the arm thats attached to the fingers that are fisted in the front of his borrowed t-shirt. His movements are halting and tentative. He's got no idea what he's doing but he knows her skin is cool to touch and in the wake of his warm hand is a trail of tiny goose bumps.  
  
The small, regular teenage boy part of JJ’s brain wonders as he extricates himself from Kie if it’s the stupidest thing he's ever done, removing himself from the sleeping clutches of the most beautiful girl he's ever known. But he can tell she's cold and his own aching muscles are tightening from too many days in damp clothes, not enough sleep, too frequent beatings and the sudden drop in temperature due to the storm. He feels even colder when he gently pulls his arm free from under her head.  
  
His body screeches to a halt in the doorway of John B’s bedroom and it feels like someones slammed on the breaks inside of him. The room is trashed like it almost always is but the wreckage in here is more systematic, Shoupe and whatever cop was with him had made methodical work of the haphazard piles of clothes, abandon stacks of school books and tins of surf wax. If he squints hard enough in the grey shadowy light JJ is almost sure he can see John B lounging lazily on the bed surrounded by discarded shirts and bandanas. His legs and head spilling over the edges of his almost too small twin mattress. JJ grips the doorframe tightly his cracked and split knuckles turning white against the dark wood and he heaves out a breath.  
  
“Kie’s cold.” He whispers to himself stepping over the threshold and fisting a hand around the blanket that had been either kicked down or stripped back to the foot of John B’s bed. He tries to keep his eyes down focusing on the blanket and nothing more as he steps back towards the door but a photo, one of only two frames in the entire room, snags his attention. He’s seen it a million times, has his own copy even, it shouldn't grab him like it does.  
  
It was taken right after Kie came back from her Kook year after Big John had gone missing. It’s the Pogues naturally and they are grinning like goofballs on the HMS. John B with the self-declared longest arms is the selfie taker so his face is the closest to the camera, JJ is smushed next to him sandwiched between Kie and John B, Popes arms are wrapped around them all and his head is resting above Kie and JJ. JJ stares into the younger happier, lighter version of himself for a second too long. Gleeful dancing blue eyes stare out at him from the frame. _That_ JJ’s stare is mocking, locked in a day of laughter and sunshine and his three best friends. That JJ exists in a world where there is no restitution money to pay, where he’s never heard of $400 million of gold buried in an old well. It’s a world where he hasn't stolen his Dads boat, where Kie and Pope aren't accessories to a crime, where Kie and Pope haven't kissed. It’s a world where there was no manhunt. It’s a world where John B is alive.  
  
The anger that surges through him is quick and merciless and all of a sudden he's wrenched the frame from John Bs littered book shelf. His hands are shaking his knees threaten to buckle and he remembers that rage that filled him when he fisted the wrench above his Dad in the grass. The angry beaten down part of him that wanted desperately to strike down and end it all. He’s seconds from breaking the cheap glass, the warped wood of the frame beginning to give against his fingers when he hears her voice, small and uncharacteristically scared, echoing through the grey darkness.  
  
“JJ?”  
  
His gaze softens and its John B and Pope and Kie he sees when he looks down at the picture in his clenched fist. His fingers relax their cheesy grins softening the tension in his shoulders. _Kie is cold. Kie is cold. Kie is cold._ He chants in his head the adrenaline drains out of him as quickly as it had flooded through his veins and everything hurts again. He lets the picture go and it clatters to the ground unbroken, Kie hears the sound and her responding voice is more urgent.  
  
“JJ? JJ where are you?” He can hear the sleepy hoarseness in her voice. That merged with the slight panic lacing her tone shakes out the last vestiges of the savage anger that had gripped him.  
  
He can see her again within three strides the blanket trails behind him as he steps out over the threshold of John B’s room. She's sitting up now, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees, deep purple circles of tiredness make the whites of her eyes pop even brighter in the grimy half light. He's not sure what his face looks like but a myriad of emotions from fear to deep concern, pain and sadness dance across her features as he makes his way back to the pullout. Each step closer to her fills him with the same bone tiredness he felt hours before.  
  
A small part of him wonders if it will always be like this. Will every simple tasks he undertakes for the rest of his days, like going to get a blanket, be littered with obstacles he has to hurdle? Will the rest of his life be spent waiting for the moment when the grief or the anger or the guilt of losing his best friend, his brother comes to claim him?  
  
For not the first time JJ thinks Kie can read his mind or at least his face. In a few small slow movements she is kneeling on the end of the pullout eyes soft in the predawn light. Gently she pulls the blanket free from his clenched fist. Their bodies an inverted mirror image of how they had been hours before, when she had kissed his forehead and crashed into him desperate to soothe and silence the guilt that threatened to pull him under. Her ministrations are slower now, more measured. She gently pulls each of his taught fingers away from his palm threading her fingers through his hand and slowly letting each finger slot into place against his. She tries hard to silence the thought penetrating her tired consciousness, that this, his hand in hers, feels right.  
  
“Come back” She whispers so softly he cant even be sure he heard her right. The frown in his brow furrows deeper, the deep bags beneath his own eyes becoming even more pronounced beneath his bruises as the light subtly shifts.  
  
“Come back, JJ” There is greater strength in her voice this time her brown eyes seek out his and once he's locked onto her he can’t look away. There is a new depth to her eyes now, still slightly hooded from lack of sleep they look upon him softly. But there is a burning beneath that soft gaze that is passionate and caring and easy to anger and so very Kie that even if he had the strength or the will power to look away he knows he wouldn’t, couldn’t.  
  
“I’m not sure how.” His voice is only a fraction more than nothing but his words clatter in the stillness. Kiara thinks its perhaps the most honest thing that JJ, the boy who is always fine, even when he's bleeding and broken, has ever said.  
  
She reaches up to touch his face again, for a movement so foreign to them it feels oddly natural. She sweeps his messy blonde hair back her fingers gliding lightly, casually over his scalp. It’s a slow downed copy of a movement she's done a hundred times messing up his hair in the surf or when he says something dumb. But there is no jest in her movement now only a desperate desire to shoulder some of JJ’s pain just for a moment, just for right now.  
  
“I know.” She whispers because she has to say something lest he mistake her heartbroken silence for judgment or shame. She runs her hand through his hair again, softly flexing her fingers along his scalp and she thinks maybe he shivers a little under he touch.  
  
For a brief and fleeting second she wonders if she should just kiss him senseless, make him forget the pain and the uncertainty that has taken charge of their lives. It would be so easy. She could make it all go away for them both right now. She could vanquish their pain, their tiredness, their guilt. She would fist her hand in his hair and yank his face to hers. He’d respond to her lips on bodily instinct alone because he's JJ and even through the haze of grief and fear and pain she knows he'd snatch up the relief, the respite, if she offered it. She's seen it enough at the Boneyard when his eyes are vacant and his bruises are fresh but the tourist girls either don’t notice or are too buzzed to really care.  
  
Instead she scoots back onto the pull out she tightens her grip on JJ’s hand and he returns the pressure immediately following her lead as she gently pulls him back down. She takes the blanket he brought out of John Bs room wrapping it as best she can around them both. As soon as his head is within her reach again her hand cards through his hair guiding him down next to her.  
  
Her left arm is folded beneath head on the pullouts single pillow her other hand is tangled in the hair at the base of JJ’s neck. This time it’s JJ that is curled into Kiara and she feels his warm breath on her throat gradually begin to find a slow even rhythm. She kisses his forehead fingers still playing with the hair at his neck. The soft hum of his breath against her skin lulls her back into sleep, his body warming her more than the blanket ever could have hoped to.  
  
“I’ll always come back for you Kie.” He murmurs the words solemn as a vow against her skin. His voice so low that she couldn't possibly hear his promise.  
  



	5. Down permanent revere

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Laur, her obx memes and rapidly developing crush on Chase Stokes, sorry I took you emotional bungee jumping that one time, look where we are now...
> 
> Sorry for all the swearing in this chapter, I guess I'm not that _sorry_ per say but please consider this your warning, "all those who travel hear, a fuck load of swearing lies ahead." 
> 
> Thanks for being into this and for all the lovely comments please keep letting me know what you think! 
> 
> \--------------  
> I own nothing but my mistakes and my continued insanity.
> 
> \--------------

  
  
The banging in his head is worse than its ever been before. No amount of cheap beer and bad weed has ever been quite this loud. With a groan he tries to roll onto his stomach to silence the pounding in his head and return to sleep, but he can’t. Something is blocking JJ’s movement or really someone.  
  
_Jesus_ he thinks cracking a sandy lashed eye open, its pretty rare that he blackouts to the point of forgetting about bringing a girl back to the Chateau. Not unheard of, the months after Kie went Kook and Big John went missing were rough at best, but still rare.  
  
_John B’s gonna kil_ l- his thoughts freeze as his sight focuses. A worn blue tank top. Smooth caramel skin. Long dark curls. It’s Kie that he's curled against. Kie’s sleeping body thats stopped him from rolling over to silence the banging. And John B isn’t going to do anything because John B is… He forces that thought to end before it can be finished, before he can plummet back to the depths of desperation and pain that washed over him like storm waves last night. The banging still hasn't let up which he thinks is odd because the likelihood of a JJ super hangover is rapidly disintegrating.  
  
“Door.” Kie muffles into her pillow. She has a pillow because she fell asleep on _the_ pillow and JJ fell asleep on her. The teenage parts of his brain want to follow that thought out more, but he has finally placed the insistent banging someone is knocking at the door.  
  
“Kie!” A familiar voice bellows.  
  
“Kie, I know you're here, I saw your car!” It’s Pope. Pope is the one yelling. It’s Pope banging on the door. JJ struggles to put the pieces into place.  
  
He pushes the blanket of his legs. As it passes through his hand he thinks of Kie gently guiding it from his fingers replacing its threads with hers. His muscles tighten further, his skin is pulled taught across a host of inflamed welts and bruises. There is a fleeting thought about finding ice at some point today but then he pulls open the door and Pope is standing there hand raised to bang on the door again and all thoughts of wound care vanish when he takes in Pope's face and the bags under his eyes.  
  
“JJ?” There is a question in Pope’s voice and JJ isn't sure how to respond.  
  
Outside of the Chateau the rain has ceased and while the sky is still grey JJ has to shield his eyes against the grey-white brightness. The cloud cover will likely be burnt off by the end of the day and it’ll be like last nights storm never happened, JJ has to hold back a snort at the thought of that impossibility. Pope’s wearing his Heyward's Seafood t-shirt and JJ isn’t overly surprised to see it. He figured Heyward would have wanted Pope on a short leash, what with the potential felony charges and ditching out on his scholarship interview and all.  
  
“Is Kie here?” Pope’s voice comes out slightly strangled and he won’t meet JJ’s eye.  
  
“I’m right here Pope.” Her tone is bright and cheery but JJ can hears the cracks she's trying to mask. She steps up to the door next to JJ and he can feel the warmth of her arms beside him she seems to radiate warmth and it makes the hairs on his arms stand. Her hair is mused and flattened on one side, and as he thinks it she rakes her hand through her tresses tossing her curls hastily over one shoulder.  
  
“Kie, you're parents are losing it.” Pope stares intently at her and the colour in her cheeks drains away.  
  
“Shit” she breathes grabbing for Popes wrist inspecting his watch, 1:18pm.  
  
“Fuck” she yells racing back into the chateau hastily looking for her shoes, until she remembers driving to the Chateau last night rain falling in sheets onto her windshield. Her bare feet in the mud, on the worn warm wooden slats of the porch, pressed against JJ's under the blanket. She shakes her head dismissing all of this as she locates her keys and starts for the front door.  
  
“Your dad stopped by Heyward's to check if I'd seen you.” There is a hint of accusation in Pope’s voice and she looks up at him sharply as she crosses the room.  
  
JJ is silent in the doorway eyes trained on the floor.  
  
“Kie” He mumbles looking up at her, his eyes are endlessly blue and sad and sorry. The look on his face almost breaks her and she thinks in that harried moment she'd give almost anything for his smirk, or some obnoxious jibe about her returning to Kook world.  
  
Pope clears his throat a little and she wants to glare at him. Why is he acting like this. Like this is just a normal day and he's reminding her she’s broken curfew. Like the last time they were all together wasn't on the floor of the tent sobbing and clutching at each other like a life raft. A deep anger begins to rise within her and she wants to hit something and she thinks maybe she wants to hit Pope.  
  
“I think your Mom is really worried Kie.” Pope’s voice is quieter now and it deflates her anger like the air being let slowly from a balloon.  
  
“Ok.” she nods trying to formulate a plan in he head. Her eyes fall on JJ again, he's looking up at her now and she can see that he's banished some of the sadness from his eyes. For some reason though it troubles her more to see him like this, to seem him ‘fine’.  
  
“I’ll be back ok.” She promises him and his hand reaches out for her for a fraction of a second before his fingers flex in the air between them and he hastily pulls them back to his side. It's too late though she’s seen the rise of Pope’s eyebrows in her peripheral vision. She pushes past both boys trying to shake the heaviness on her shoulders, Pope follows.  
  
“Kie…. Kie wait up.” He calls softly, she's almost at the car door.  
  
“I can’t do this right now Pope, I just can’t” She mumbles not meeting his eyes.  
  
“Can't do what Kie? Can’t explain why JJ wasn't at my house this morning and why apparently you weren't at yours last night?” Pope’s voice is low and she can't even blame him for the tiny hint of anger she's pretty sure she can see in his usually soft kind eyes.  
  
“Any of it Pope, I can’t do any of it right now. I have to go.” Despite sleeping until after lunch she feels another wave of tiredness coming over her, her eyes are burning again. Pope reaches for her hand lacing his fingers through hers she tries not to flinch away from his touch. Its the same hand that had gripped hers in the tent not 24 hours ago. The same hand that had wrapped around her on the ground. It was Pope’s hand, a hand that had helped her onto the HMS countless times. And yet now it didn't feel right. Pope’s fingers trying to thread through her hand just as she had threaded her fingers intro JJ’s in the middle of the night made her shiver, and a vicious wave of self loathing collapsed over her.  
  
“I have to go Pope.” She whispers pulling her hand away from his and jumping into her car. She shoves the keys into the ignition and throws the car into reverse as she feels herself beginning to break, her bottom lip is clenched between her teeth and she bites down in a desperate attempt to keep her self together. She backs out of The Chateaus drive and stomps on the accelerator her bottom lip trembling despite her teeth piercing into her skin.  
  
“Fuck!” it comes out as a half choked scream her foot slides of the accelerator her car coasting silently to a stop. Angry, sad, hopeless tears well over and she slams her hands on her steering wheel and screams again.  
  
“Fuck!”  
  
——————————-  
  
Kie jumps into her car throwing it into reverse and hurriedly backs out of the drive. Pope’s hand tingles from where her fingers had pulled themselves from his. He closes his eyes to take a breath but in the darkness he sees the way Kie had stepped up to stand by JJ’s side, just as sleep rumpled as JJ had been answering the door. He squeezes his eyes tighter and sees JJ’s hand reach out to take hers.  
  
“Fuck!” he yells into his palms, scraping his hands over his face and into his hair. He stays like that for a long while, his hands over his face breathing into his palms slowly.  
  
“Fuck" he groans again his fingers flexing over his face dragging at his skin.  
  
“Nasal cavity, Pharynx, larynx, oesophagus, trachea, primary bronchi, lungs” he whispers haltingly into his hands reciting the respiratory system to calm himself down just as he done during his end of year biology final. Just as he had when they stood around the waiting room after Topper pushed John B from the Hawks Nest. Just as he had done last night when Shoupe had murmured, "We lost them."  
  
Eventually Pope lets his hands fall from his face and an exhale whistles from his lips. He shoves his hands into his pocket as he steps back towards the Chateau.  
  
————————-  
  
“I’ll be back ok.” Kie’s voice is soft and her promise is etched across her face. He can see how confused, frustrated and frightened she is, her eyes hard and focused. Almost without his permission his hand reaches out to her and as his fingers stretch to her, as if drawn by a magnet, he realises what he is doing, where he is and that Pope’s eyebrows have just inched up on his forehead. His fingers flex and he pulls his hand away like he's just touched a live wire.  
  
He drops his eyes to the floor but he can feel Kie’s gaze on him for a second more before she's pushing past Pope and bolting for her car. Pope follows her down the steps into the yard and as the screen door slams in the wake of his two remaining best friends, JJ takes a step back leaning his head against the wall.  
  
“Fuck!” JJ half screams, scraping his hands through his hair and slamming his open palm into the doorframe. It makes a resounding smack and JJ doesn't even care about the momentary spiral of pain that shoots up his arm.  
  
“Fuck” He yells again, properly this time, kicking out at the various debris scattered across the floor of The Chateau. His foot connects with a beer bottle sending it careening into the wall, where it promptly shatters.  
  
“Fuck.” He groans this time a resigned sigh sagging his shoulders and he steps towards the equally trash covered kitchen for a broom and some kind of dustpan. He finds a broom but no pan and ends up using a sheaf of cardboard to scrape the broken glass into a trash bag. He picks up as many of the other abandoned cans, bottles and pieces of cardboard as he can and at the last minute he separates the recyclables, hearing Kie’s voice screaming in his head.  
  
“Whipped as fuck” he mutters savagely throwing the bottles into an empty beer box.  
  
“Are you cleaning?” Pope’s voice sounds almost normal as it echoes across the space.  
  
“Yes. I hate it.” JJ stomps on a can crumpling under his boot.  
  
“Wanna beer?” He asks dumping the last crushed can and straightening up to look at Pope. His hair is mused up, JJ wonders sickeningly if Kie did that. Pope nods and JJ pulls bottles from the fridge trying to shrug the image of Pope and Kie out of his head.  
  
They sit on the dock quietly sipping on their beers, tension humming along side the increasing humidity in the air. The sun is already starting to burn through the clouds drying the island out after last nights storm.  
  
JJ chews on his bottom lips trying desperately to think of nothing. The silent eats at him though and eventually he breaks it. So does pope.  
  
"Nothing happened man." JJ murmurs eyes trained on the soft roll of the water.  
  
“This is fucked.” Pope says at the same time. His tone is matter of fact, like he's addressing the weather and he gestures out to the still waters, the HMS, and the sun peaking through the clouds.  
  
JJ can't tell if Pope's ignoring him or if he just doesn't have the energy to care about why the girl he kissed yesterday answered the door with JJ this morning. Either way Pope doesn't react or respond to JJ's confession. His hand clenches tightly around the neck of his bottle and thinks grimly that Pope’s right. It is fucked, what does any of it even matter, everything is fucked.  
  
Every aspect of their lives is now resolutely fucked. How are they supposed to sit on a dock and drink beers and talk. What are they supposed to talk about? Their impending interviews with the cops? The bruises marking both their bodies from Kooks and drug dealers? The murderous father and son duo wandering the island freely? Their dead best friend? The girl their both probably in love with?  
  
JJ grinds his teeth muling over their new reality. The hopelessness that usually crawls in when he's panting against the wall face bloodied, ribs bruised, after a run in with his dad settles itself in on his chest.  
  
“Yeah, its fucked.”  
  



	6. My mind is made up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're back for some more bungee jumping. Sorry for the delay in posting! This chapter is nice and long and full of angst though so hopefully that will make up for my temporary absence. 
> 
> I seriously can't thank you guys enough for all the kindness, comments and kudos, I've never written a fanfic before so this is truly wild. Please keep commenting it's so awesome to read your thoughts. 
> 
> Laur, I checked the rule book I'm still within truce guidelines... just. 
> 
> \--------------  
> I own nothing but my mistakes and my continued insanity.
> 
> \--------------

"Where the hell have you been?” Anna Carrera’s voice cracks as she shrieks at her daughter emerging through the front door. Her cheeks are flushed and tear stained and the tired bags beneath her eyes mirror that of Kiara’s. The anger that had flared within Anna when Kie had walked into the house is snuffed out as soon as she takes in the young girl standing before her. Her daughters eyes are red from crying, her hair is lifeless and matted with god knows what and there are deep bruises colouring her neck, the marks seem to clamp around her sixteen year olds throat like hands, Anna feels a wave of nausea wash over her.  
  
“Mom.” Kiara whimpers, lips trembling.  
  
Anna has Kiara in her arms in seconds, her shoulders shake and Anna can feel her baby dissolving within her embrace. An overwhelming feeling of hopelessness envelopes both Carreras. For the first time in her 16 years as a mother, Anna understands that Kiara is experiencing a pain that she cannot soothe with a special cup of tea or by weaving intricate braids into her little girls long locks. Gripping her girl even harder Anna bites down on her bottom lip while sobs rack Kiara’s lithe form.  
  
Standing mere miles from the house that she had grown up surrounded by the pomp and ceremony of the island club, a life that her own daughter had always shied away from, a question that has often plagued Anna pulls itself to the surface.  
  
_Did I do the right thing?_  
  
She thinks of the tiny fearless three year old that had plunged through waves, the determination to surf like her dad overruling all other thoughts. A vibrant 10 year old Kiara standing by her science fair poster board at Kildare Elementary grinning a toothy smile next to her presentation on pollution in the Outer Banks and ways to protect the local sea turtles. Then it's a memory of her beautiful daughter more distraught than Anna had ever seen her the day she and Mike had told she wouldn't be continuing on to Kildare High School but moving over to the Academy with her Figure Eight classmates.  
  
Banishing the memories of the painful months that followed Kiara’s transfer to the Academy, Anna presses her lips into her daughters hair. Stroking Kiara’s back to soothe her shaky breathing Anna commits herself to silencing the nagging thought that if she had been a better mother, if she had viewed her smart courageous daughter as a whole person, perhaps all of this pain now coursing through the young woman in her arms could have been avoided.  
  
Anger fights the fear and regret that has rooted itself in Anna’s mind. There are police charges looming, two dead teenagers somewhere out in the storm wreckage and someone has had their hands around Kiara’s throat. The idyllic lifestyle of island club luncheons and Midsummers parties she had envisioned when she first held the small bundle, that would grown into her strong willed daughter, is so far from her grasp in this moment that Anna feels adrift amongst the chaos and uncertainty.  
  
————————————————————  
  
Kie collapses into her Moms arms the tremble in her lips, that she had tamed when the screaming and sobbing in her car subsided, regained its control of her as soon as she crossed the threshold into her parents house. For the briefest of moments when her Mom’s arms wrapped around her Kie wished it was still dark, that she was still at the Chateau and that it was JJ’s arms trying desperately to hold her together. The thought is gone as quick as it had come though as she feels her Mom rub the familiar patterns of her childhood into her back. Gulping air into her lungs Kie tries to steady herself or regulate her breathing but there doesn't seem to be enough air in the world to fill her lungs. With each morsel of air she manages to choke down she thinks of John B and then of Sarah her friend turned enemy turned friend again and the sobs choke her once more as thoughts of the fear they must have felt when the boat flipped overwhelm her.  
  
She’s not sure how long her Mom holds her in the hallway the pressure on her back never lets up even though Kie’s pretty sure Anna is crying too. At some point her dad returns. He's yelling to Anna when he hurries through the door. The panic stricken accusations of why she didn't call when Kiara returned die on his lips as he takes in the sight before him. His wife wrapped around his daughter both of their shoulders shaking, silent sobs wracking their bodies.  
  
When her dads arms envelope her too Kiara’s knees that have been fighting to keep her up for all this time finally crumble beneath the burdens that she has heaped upon her shoulders over the last weeks. She feels all the weight of trying to keep JJ and Pope and John B safe-ish throughout the beginning of the summer. The fine line between supporting John B and feeding the deluded belief that his dad was still alive. Biting down on her tongue hard enough to draw blood every time JJ had showed up at Rixon cove with a bruise on his stomach, or a wince when he tightened his leg leash. Hiding John B from the DCS agents threatening foster care. Finding Scooter’s key and everything that came after from being shot at to lighting a film screen on fire. Being kissed by John B. JJ in the hot tub, Kissing Pope.  
  
_Fuck, Pope._  
  
The world swims before her teary eyes as another wave of feelings she is rapidly losing the ability to actually decipher rush over her.  
  
“Kiara.” Her Dads voice typically low and soothing seems to crack under the strain of everybody's new reality.  
  
“Kiara, baby-girl, what happened?” The question is so large its almost laughable.  
  
The tears have left her exhausted once more and yet she's fighting the urge to thrash against her parents. Fighting the urge to scream.  
  
_What happened? What happened?!_  
  
_Two of my best friends are dead. JJ has $30,000 restitution to pay for something he, for once, didn't even do. A drug dealer is likely coming after him and his son of a bitch father has been beating him senseless for god knows how long. Rafe Cameron choked me, he nearly killed JJ and he shot Sheriff Peterkin._  
  
_We were shot at. We found and lost $400 million in gold bars. A drug dealer held us at gun point. Pope told me he loved me and while we were all running four our lives I kissed him but I think I’m probably, maybe, a bit in love with JJ. I’m scared I’ll never get passed this pain._  
  
_And tomorrow I have to go and give a statement to the police and tell them all about how my dead best friends dad was killed by my other dead friends father who killed at least to other people and framed the aforementioned best friend for murder effectively sentencing my two dead best friends to their deaths._  
  
She wants to do it. She wants to let it all spill out of her, consequences be damned. Every locked away secret and each terrifying truth. She wants to open the flood gates and tell them everything. She wants them to take away the guilt and the responsibility, the burdens and the hardships that shouldn't sit on the shoulders of a 16 year old. She wants them to tell her it will be ok. That Pope will forgive her for trampling his heart a bit and that he’ll get his scholarship shot back. She wants them to tell her that JJ is going to be alright, that they will help him get out from under his dad. She wants them to tell her that it has all been some horrible mistake and that John B and Sarah have been found, that they're alive.  
  
But they can’t tell her any of that. Her parents cant fix this mess because, she realises with a sinking feeling in her gut, _this_ is life. Inescapable realities and no magic fixes. Despite the compounding realities that are adding themselves to her weighed down shoulders Kiara let’s one truth slip free.  
  
“He didn't do it.” Her voice is a hoarse whisper and her Pogue-Mom protective instincts flare up in warning but she ignores them. If there is any truth she needs her parents to here, to take hold of and just for once believe, it is this one.  
  
“Peterkin.” She tries again her voice gaining strength, “John B didn't shoot Peterkin. Rafe did. Rafe shot her and Ward covered it up.” She feels her mothers arms stiffen around her, her dad has stilled too.  
  
“Kiara I know its difficult to accept but… ” Her mom trails off hesitantly voice low as if she's afraid of being overheard in their own house.  
  
Kie shakes her head her usual brand of ferocity seeping back into her bones slowly and steadying in her gut, preparing her for the fight that she knows is coming.  
  
“Ward Cameron is a powerful man Kiara. He has resources at his disposal that you kids couldn't possibly understand. I now it might seem like one thing right now but I’m sure there is an explanation for all of it. ” Her dad seems to pick up where her Mom left off, his words are steeped in a seriousness she barely recognises. There is something else in his tone too and she cant help but wonder if its fear.  
  
“Dad.” She starts.  
  
“No, listen to me Kiara. I need you to listen to me. Ward Cameron is a powerful, powerful man and he has lost.” Her Dad pauses and a pained look passes over his face.  
  
“He has lost _everything_.” There is emotion in her fathers voice that she can’t understand but it ignites her anger like a match striking.  
  
“You know who really lost everything Dad? John B. Ward _caused_ this! He framed John B. If it weren't for Ward John B would be alive. _Sarah_ would be alive!” Without even realising it she has recoiled from her parents her hands feel weak on the floor as she pushes herself away from the embrace that had held her.  
  
“Kiara.” Her Moms voice is strained.  
  
“You don’t believe me?” She feels hollow. She hadn't really expected her parents the Island club members and midsummer goers to automatically believe in John B’s innocence. But a part of her, an optimistic naive part of her that is still very much 16 and very much in need of her parents was hopeful that they would see the truth in _her_.  
  
“It’s not a matter of believing you Kiara. Ward Cameron is the most influential man on this island he has just lost his daughter I won’t let you put yourself in danger by accusing his son for murder as well.” There is an unfamiliar finality in her Dad’s voice. This isn't like when she can change his mind about free food at The Wreck she can see the resolution in his dark eyes.  
  
“What about John B Dad?” She asks voice breaking.  
  
“There was no one to keep him from danger. No one to keep Sarah from it either.” Her words come in a rush hysteria is creeping into her like the inescapable chill that seeps in at the end of a long day in the surf or out on the Pogue. But this chill isn't pushed back by stolen sweaters and Pope and John B and JJ’s laughter, its dark and frightening.  
  
“What happened Kiara was a tragedy, the Department of Child Services clearly failed John B . And we’re so sorry that you have to experience this grief. You’re so young and we want to protect you from all of this. We want to keep you safe.” The irrefutability in her Moms tone mirrors her Dads.  
  
Her parents are frightened. They're afraid of Ward, they're afraid of Rafe. The reality of this washes over her and she's torn between disgust and terror. Ward is one of the most powerful people in the Outer Banks he can inspire fear in others which means the truth doesn't matter anymore. Not when Ward Cameron can simply alter the narrative as he sees fit, _John B was a murderer and Sarah was crazy._  
  
She has just watched all of this play out first hand, she feels like an idiot for it surprising her. What were the last 4 days if not a horrifying lesson in the reality of the food chain? John and Sarah were simply the most recent victims in a war that has been going on since long before the gold was buried at Tanny hill. Isn’t this what she had learned in Mr Douglas’ history class at Kildare Middle School? Her desk behind Popes, and sandwiched between JJ and John B. History is written by the victors.  
  
Ward Cameron is the victor. He owns the narrative now.  
  
Her blood is turning cold and her thoughts shift to Rafe. Untethered and roaming the island without conscience or consequence. He shot Peterkin for naught and he carries a deep hatred for the remaining Pogues.  
  
The walls are closing in around her, the air is getting thick and Kie isn’t sure if she needs to scream or be sick. She’s backed herself against the wall now the entire hall separating her from her parents. Her movements are mechanical and outside of her control. She pushes off the floor and scrambles up the stairs her feet catching on the tread as she stumbles blinded by her fear towards her room. Below her Mike puts his arms around Anna.  
  
“Lets just give her some space” He murmurs watching his daughter disappear on the upstairs landing.  
  
Inside her room she sinks against the door her breathing harsh and shallow. Her heads a mess of half developed questions and bad plans. She fists her hands into her hair trying to shut out her thoughts.  
  
_What if we run? Will Rafe come after us? Does Ward know that we know? Will the Police believe us? Are Pope and JJ safe at the Chateau? What happens when JJ’s Dad learns about the Phantom?_  
  
Her thoughts chase themselves around and around in her head returning far to frequently to the image of Rafe’s face in the shed with _The Phantom_ his cold dead eyes, the sweat beading on his forehead. The image of a man who's last tethers to reality, to sanity, are desperately frayed. She shudders each time his face swims before her eyes.  
  
Time passes, she’s not sure how much but eventually she notices that her limbs are numb and that its dark outside her windows. Her eyes are burning and she cant settle her breathing into a steady rhythm. This is a fear Kie hasn't felt before, its scarier than the being dragged down by an undercurrent after wiping off a wave. More all consuming than those first lunches after Sarah’s birthday party when all eyes in the Academy cafeteria had watched her gather her food and run. Its deeper even than the dread that had settled in her stomach in the SBI tent. There are known unknowns threatening everything she has left lurking just outside her darkened windows and that knowledge threatens to pull her right back under.  
  
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JJ is lying in the Hammock at the Chateau. A poorly rolled joint hangs lazily from his hand. If it weren't for his frantically fidgeting fingers he'd look chill, relaxed. But his mind is a mess. Thoughts buzz from John B standing on the deck of _The Phantom_ pushing away from the boat dock to the night at the boneyard when he pulled the stolen gun on Topper. Next he's in the holding cell at Kildare County Jail and his jaw throbs as the memory of his Dad coming to bail him out takes hold. Scrunching his eyes tighter closed he sees Kie’s hair in his finger tips. Her light breezy smile on the boat weeks ago. Her hips swaying to the beat of whatever Motown record was on rotation at The Wreck. He thinks of her fingers tightening in his hand last night when they tried to pull each other out of the darkness over and over. Then the memory of Pope and Kie kissing jumps out at him and his stomach lurches.  
  
He pushes himself up from the hammock stabbing the joint out and resting his forearms on his knees. He’s exhausted again. The tiredness curling around his mind. Softening the edges of the guilt and rage that seems to dig into every muscle.  
  
JJ and Pope had spent hours sitting on the boat dock. For a long while they were quiet. Their minds and bodies slowly, painfully adapting to the gaping hole that was the absence of John B.  
  
JJ kept opening his mouth to say something, anything, but his breath huffed out of him instead and his teeth jutted back together. How do you start a conversation about your dead best friend or potential jail time? How do you casually launch into a discussion about the girl you slept wrapped around last night with the guy she kissed yesterday. He can't do it. So instead he sips his beer letting the amber liquid grow warm in his mouth before swallowing it in uncomfortable gulps. The sun has dropped a bit by the time Pope finally takes a sledge hammer to the gradually thickening silence.  
  
“We gotta get rid of the damn hot tub.” He announces.  
  
“ _The Cats Ass_?” JJ cant help the smirk despite all the ill-fucking-will the hot tub has levelled at him. Pope nods and JJ agrees. Even if just to have something to do. Something to focus on with Pope that doesn't involve John B or his dad finding out about _The Phantom_ or skipped scholarship interviews or Kie.  
  
It Turns out that Heyward isn’t the only one with a gift for getting things done on the island. Within a half hour of standing up from the boat dock Pope had a plan laid out and four hours after that JJ had $19,000 worth of his restitution money back in hand and the _Cat’s Ass_ was on its way to a Figure Eight house, in the hands of a Kook family who’s hot tub had been wrecked by Hurricane Agatha.  
  
Things had felt better between the two boys once they had secured victory over _The Cat’s Ass_. Their conversation ebbed and flowed and both were able to pretend they weren't desperately avoiding letting the conversation fall anywhere near the storm, the gold, or everything that was missing.  
  
“I’ll see you at Home?” Pope had asked JJ once the sun had slipped below the marsh line. JJ slapped his hand pulling him into a hug pogue-style.  
  
“Maybe. Yeah. Probably… will see.” JJ offered noncommittally, Pope just smiled shouldering his backpack and stepping down off the porch.  
  
“Hey Pope!” JJ called to his friends retreating form. Pope turns, a questioning eyebrow shooting towards his baseball cap.  
  
“Thanks, for…. you know.” JJ trailed off and Pope waved off his thanks giving JJ an upwards nod that seemed to say _we’re good man_ before he disappeared into the dusky light.  
  
Now JJ was alone again, Kie was with her family. Pope was with his family and JJ was alone. Scrubbing his hands over his face he wondered if no one was still better than his dead beat Dad. Learning back in the hammock he’s starting to wish he hadn't stamped out the joint when a ringing sounds from inside the Chateau.  
  
He hasn't seen his phone for days, maybe weeks not since before Aggie ripped the island a new one knocking out most of the crappier cell lines. JJ’s got no idea if John B took his phone to… never mind he's not finishing that thought. Instead he lunges out of the hammock rushing up the stairs into the Chateau towards the ringing.  
  
Its gotten properly dark while JJ was reeling through his memories in the hammock and he flails at the walls for a light switch as he scans the dark space for an illuminated phone screen. His fingers brush the switch and the Chateau is bathed in warm light before him, but there's still no phone. He hurries into Big John’s study, a room he hasn't been inside since they had hidden in the chicken coup and watched Ward’s two thugs riffling through Big Johns stuff. He tries not to dwell on the fate of the squawking chicken as he throws papers off the table getting ever closer to the ringing.  
  
“Fucks sake Big John.” He breathes finally unearthing a corded landline phone. It feels like a relic in his hands and he almost laughs picking up the receiver.  
  
“Hello?” JJ asks tentatively wondering for the first time a) who the hell is calling a land line and b) a thought which is pretty rare for him, is this a good idea?  
  
“JJ?” The voice on the other end is small and crackles a bit but its unmistakably Kie. JJ’s blood runs cold.  
  
“Kie? Kie whats wrong.”  
  
“Will you come get me.” She sounds small are scared and the sounds is like a punch to the face. JJ feels his pulse quicken reflexively.  
  
“I’m on my way.” He doesn't even hang the phone up just dumps the receiver and runs. Boots thwacking against the stairs, then the mud and then he's in the van and the keys are in the ignition. He's too focused on the fear in Kie’s voice. Too caught up in getting to her _now_ to think about the van and the fact that this is the first time he's been in it since the world ended.  
  



	7. You're one of the few things that I’m sure of

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alright y'all we're back in the bungee jumping saddle again with our three favourite things; angst and JJ and Kie. 
> 
> Terribly sorry for the posting delay. There's a new baby in the world and she's total perfection so writing took a temporary back seat to fangirl over her and her rockstar Mum. 
> 
> Thanks a bundle for all the kind words in your comments and the kudos I'm super new to all of this and to know that people are actually reading and enjoying this has me truly chuffed. 
> 
> Laura - This chapter is basically just a truce laden gift for you wrapped up in a navy blue jumper, i hope you enjoy it. 
> 
> Anyway on with the show hopefully I'll be back asap.  
> \--------------------------------
> 
> I own nothing but my mistakes and my continued insanity 
> 
> \--------------------------------

  
  
Kie clambers up off the floor, a familiar pain weaving over her legs. Riotous pins and needles exploding across her body, a shrieking protest against the unfurling of her limbs. The crying has subsided a little and after what feels like hours of gasping, Kie’s breath is beginning to sound less like there is an elephant sitting atop her chest. Her hair is a matted mess of mud and salt, sweat and probably blood so despite the bone tiredness that has settled in behind her eyes she drags herself into the shower. Standing beneath the boiling spray Kie doesn't move until the pain eases slowly out of her shoulders and her fingers have pruned. The foggy air further calms her out of character shakiness, until she rub the condensation from the mirror and her reflection stairs streakily back at her. The steam filled bathroom starts to close in around her, reality bleeding into the honey scented room.  
  
With her wet hair pushed off her face, plastered instead against her back Kie’s neck is exposed. The purple bruises, bruises that make the shape of Rafe Cameron’s hands stand out starkly against her weary skin in the wet mirror. She sees Rafe reflected in the glass, he's standing behind her eyes rimmed red. His evil laugh barks out in the darkness as she blinks rapidly to dispel the figure in her mirror. His angry drug slurred voice echoes in the drips of the shower, filling the room with an inescapable noise.  
  
The panic grips Kie tightly and before she is aware of her actions she has wrenched herself free from the streaky mirror and is pulling on clean shorts and socks. She doesn't bother wringing her hair out instead she struggles into the hoodie hanging from the back of her desk chair. Her breath coming in short gasps, her lungs pierced with dread. Kie checks over her shoulder in the darkened hallway at least three times as she slips out of her room. Fear mounting as she imagines Rafe or Barry or Ward creeping out from the shadowy corners of her childhood home.  
  
When she makes it to the dimly lit kitchen and the cordless phone, that her parents maintain so her Mom can forward her office calls on weekends, she unthinkingly dials the Chateau. Its pure muscle memory that allows her shaking fingers to find the various 2s and 6s dialling the only number outside of her parents she has ever needed to remember. John B was always compulsively bad at paying his phone bill and the landline had always been more reliable than the any of the young Pogues.  
  
It rings for an age, Kie’s breath hitches with each creak of the house and every car door slamming in the street. Finally, _finally_ JJ’s confused voice crackles over the line and the vice like grip that had been keeping the air from her lungs loosens a little.  
  
“Will you come get me?” The words are out of her mouth before she can even think them through. But she already knows, has for a while now that she won't ever calm down here in this house where she has never felt quite whole. She needs him and if she wasn't already beyond the point of fear she's pretty sure that realisation would terrify her.  
  
JJ tells her he's on his way and there is conviction and a promise in his voice that strengthens Kie’s resolve a little. No dial tone replaces the muted sounds of the Chateau when JJ’s voice disappears. She can hear through the crackly connection the sound of boots hitting floorboards and Kie realises that JJ didn't even waste the nano second it would have taken to hang up the phone.  
  
_He's coming._  
  
Despite everything; the fear, the death, the feeling that they are being hunted and all of the unknowns, a small secret smile tugs at Kie's lips. She knew he'd come.  
  
Waiting for JJ feels like time has come to a stand still. She writes a note to her parents and her fingers shake while she grips the pen. She tells them thats she's ok, that she's safe and with her friends. She feels terrible for doing it, chews on her lip fretting over the extra stress this second disappearance is likely to cause, but reasons its better to say something than nothing, again.  
  
On a normal day it takes about 11 minutes to get from the front door of The Chateau to Kie’s kitchen, a quite frankly absurd number of close curfew calls has instilled that knowledge deep within her. Factoring in that JJ didn't even bother hanging up the phone Kie feels pretty confident in her wager that he isn't stopping for red lights. Even still she forces herself to take slow controlled, albeit slightly shaky, breaths for 415 seconds before she starts to run.  
  
The air is cool on her freshly washed skin as she takes off from her front door, her frightened mind pushing her tired limbs into a sprint as soon as her feet hit the pavement. Her battered converse beat a solid rhythm onto the asphalt beneath them. The fear coursing through her begins to bubble up as she passes houses with no lights on. She imagines Rafe popping up from behind a car or Barry appearing from a darkened driveway. The feeling that the walls of the world are closing in around her returns with a vengeance and she pushes herself to run faster and harder as if she can outrun the fear that is rooted in her chest.  
  
Headlights appear at the end of the road and her stomach drops. A part of her knows it could be JJ, that its probably JJ, but a loud and terrified part of her is screaming that its impossible to tell who or what is siting behind the glowing orbs racing towards her. Her breath hitches again, stomach lurching and her feet skid to a stop and suddenly Kie is frozen, an actual deer in the headlights.  
  
_Ward, Rafe, Barry, Ward, Rafe Barry,_ her mind repeats their names over and over again each face flashing angrily before her eyes. The headlights come to a stop with an unmistakable groan of old brake pads. She’s running again, she knows it’s him.  
  
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The vans weary headlights glint off the asphalt, the light bouncing from trees and fences and the white road lines. He’s still half a mile from Kie’s house when the light falls on her. Her body blurs in the lights, she's running. The navy sweater engulfs her small frame but JJ’d know it anywhere. It had been John B’s but like a lot of the clothes JJ, Pope and John B had left lying around on the HMS or at the Chateau it had been borrowed by Kie, probably late last fall when the nights had begun to cool off. An almighty cat fight had ensued when Kie had shown up on the boat with this specific hoodie tied around her waist with no intention of returning it. However just like JJ’s grey sweats and an old Heyward’s cap of Popes, both of which had been squirrelled away by Kie at one point or another, the navy blue hoodie had never gone back to John B’s closet.  
  
JJ guns the van towards her as she sprints headlong through the dark, he’s pretty sure he can feel the panic rolling off her the closer he gets and it only makes him stomp harder on the accelerator. Her run is wild and unless she's been secretly training for the Olympics he knows theres no way her breathing is even with the pace she is maintaining. Suddenly as if she's been magically frozen Kie pulls up short and with her slowed momentum JJ can properly look at he through the scratched windshield. Her hair is wet and her legs bare beneath what he assumes are shorts covered by the stolen hoodie. She stares into the headlights with an animal wildness as he slows the van. Her chest is heaving as she gulps in air and he cant be sure but JJ thinks she might be trembling all over. Her deep brown eyes radiate fear and he feels her terror like a punch in the gut. Even wild and doe-like in the vans shitty headlights he recognises just how beautiful she is. He hasn't got time to dwell on this thought though because as quickly as she had frozen in the middle of the street she's running again. She races with desperation towards the van, _towards him_. Its magnetic energy not his own will power that has him throwing himself out of the drivers seat and into a headlong sprint towards her.  
  
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She crashes into him with a strangled sob. They're both running at full tilt and she feels the breath rush from her lungs as his body slams into hers. Instead of disorienting her though the contact grounds her. JJ’s arms close around Kie upon impact and he steps back on one foot to steady their combined momentum. Her nose is pressed hard into one of the bruise’s marking his sternum, but he doesn't feel pain just Kie, her wet honey scented hair, her shaking shoulders, her gasping breath. His hands grab at her back, her shoulders, her head as if somehow he can pull her into his body and quieten the sobs that wrack her, soothe the shaking in her bones and share the air in his lungs with her. Kie clutches at JJ with equal vigour her arms tight around his neck one hand fisting in the collar of the shirt he's wearing half buttoned.  
  
The stay connected like that for what feels like days. All of time and space could have passed around them and they probably wouldn’t have noticed. Its impossible to tell where one begins and the other ends. They're breathing slowly settles into an almost regular pattern. Kie’s fingers clutch the back off JJ’s shirt her knuckles white from the strain of her grip. JJ’s left hand is threaded through Kie’s still wet hair cradling her head against him. His other hand grips the material of her hoodie tightly at the shoulder his knuckles the same shade as hers. Her head is tucked beneath his chin and her mind is calm for the first time in hours the very real terrors that haunt them sit below the surface waiting for the darkness to return.  
  
Eventually, as it is with all things, their moment is disrupted. Headlights cut through the night around the van and Kie stirs first keeping the fear that has plagued her all night at bay she slips her hand into JJ’s pulling him towards the van. He doesn't dawdle, following her lead as she pulls him close to her the shadows cast by the van camouflaging them into the still night before the headlights of the oncoming car can reach them.  
  
“Kie?” He whispers in the darkness. He’s never known her to be this uncertain. She’s Kiara brave and ballsy and a little bit wild and stubborn and certainly not frightened. Never frightened, not of crazy Mrs Crain or of climbing into the Redfield crypt. But here with her back against the side of John B’s van her eyes tell an unmistakable story, one of fear and unease. With a jolt he realises that he’d do just about anything to take that trepidation from her deep brown eyes, replace it with the brightness he's so used to teasing, laughing, staring at.  
  
“Kie?” He tries again, he's inches from her, her hand still gripping his tightly.  
  
“Kie, whats going on?”  
  
“I-I.” Kie stops. Her brown eyes search his face before settling back on his eyes. They're piercingly blue even in the darkness, his gaze is softer like this, tucked into the shadows. The smirk that usually glints out at her isn't there and he looks younger without, it less guarded. She thinks of the bruises that snake across his chest and ribs. The dark shadows that are smattered across his face from Rafe, from Barry, from his dad. A shiver rolls through her shoulders and the skin at her neck prickles as thoughts of their very real, very alive enemies trickle into the bubble of calmness that had formed around her while she was focusing on matching her breath to JJs. His hands jump to her shoulders his fingers reaching out to push a curl back behind her ear. Blue eyes lock onto hers again questions and concerns swimming in them.  
  
“Kie, talk to me please.” His voice is small, tone pleading .  
  
“I just. I just want to forget.” She doesn't mean to let the whisper slip from her lips but once its escaped into the thickening air between them she realises its true. She wants to clear Ward and Barry and Rafe from her mind. She wants to be free from ships lost at sea or restitution payments or gold for just one minute. She wants to be the Kie she was before John B was lost and Pope was telling her he loved her. She wants to be Kie and JJ the biggest flirts, the best dancers. Kie and JJ with their stolen looks across the hammocks or the deck of the Pogue. For just one minute she doesn't want to think of the bruises on her neck and his face, the panic of dark corners or all the death and pain and uncertainty that is going to following them for the rest of time.  
  
He shuffles forward until the toe of his boot touches the tip of her converse. His fingers reach out again brushing a curl needlessly away from her face,  
  
“Forget what Kie?” His voice is barely more than the wind, but she's close enough to feel it. There are about a hundred questions in JJ’s voice and she's not sure how to answer any of them.  
  
“Everything.” She whispers, and she thinks this is probably the closest she has ever been to JJ when they're both awake. Her fingers tingle and she's starting to feel like she's been hit by a live power line. The promise of being able to forget, just for a second or two, that the world is crashing down around them is intoxicating to Kie. JJ’s hands are warm on her shoulders and they're anchoring her to the earth, to reality, to sanity, _to him_ .  
  
“Please JJ.” Her voice is small but she can hear a conviction in her words that wasn't there before.  
  
“Please help me forget.” She watches his blue eyes darken to an impossible shade as her gaze flickers to his lips for a fraction of a second. The air between them seems to buzz with anticipation the cool metal of the van behind her steadies her trembling knees. JJ doesn't need to be asked twice he dips his head and she meets him half way surging forward into him. Her hands grip the back of the neck of his shirt anchoring him to her.  
  
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JJ’s lips hit Kie’s and he does forget. Forgets where they are, why they're here, who he is. He forgets the lot of it, except for her. Because he is kissing Kiara his best friend, the girl he'd stop time for.  
  
There is no reality outside of Kie’s hands at the base of his neck and her lips moving against his.  
  
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End file.
